RPlog:Conversations Act2
Her last visit to the Sandbar had ended in a brawl. Oh, how times have changed. Though there's a smirk tugging at her lips as she indulges in a brief bit of nostalgia, it's a different Johanna who wanders on in, one that won't be given to bouts of incoherent hollering and drunkenness. Such poor behavior had gotten her banned from here for a time, and she isn't about to squander the goodwill of those who let her return. A furtive smile escapes her as she catches sight of an old-timer rooted to the same seat she saw him in last. It's a comfortingly familiar thing. Lynae makes a sound that's almost a laugh as she gets to her feet with Keifan's amusement and seats herself again in her chair, accepting the glass of water and sipping at it before she speaks again. "Tell me why you hate me," she says simply. "Me, myself, not the Empire. Tell me why you hate me, I have never met you before. I would recall doing something that would harm you on such a level to bear such enmity." The human pilot pauses for a moment. He opens his mouth to object. To deny this absurd accusation. But he stops, mouth agape. He looks away for a moment. After a bit he looks back. "I don't hate you, I just don't want anything to happen to my home." Keifan shakes his head and looks between Lynae and the pilot, "Good, I don't hate you either....we just ended our lives to prevent it....." With that he still stays on a knee by Lynae, "Are you allright....." He keeps his hand on her wrist checking her pulse with his chrono, "You know this shit ain't cheap." He half smirks, and laughs. Before he stands up with the new count, "Allright, you're grounded, no fun for a month from here on in." He sets the table back up and has a seat, leaning back in his chair and relaxes for now, turning back into his thoughts. Lynae shakes her head, "Well I, certainly, am not going to do anything to your home," she replies. She sips again from the glass of water, her lips still faintly blue and face pale, left hand trembling though she keeps that hand tucked beneath the surface of the table now that the waitress set it back in place. "This is one of the top of the line models, actually," she says to Keifan, nodding towards the display inset in her wrist. "Possibly the best generation out there. I happened to speak with one of the developers while they were in progress and was impressed, I am still, though not quite as impressed as when I saw one in action properly." She rubs at her left arm again as Keifan reclaims his seat, "And if this is fun, I'm asking you to shoot me now. Just, go borrow a weapon, shoot me." Now, it's not the *best* idea to spend time at an establishment where intoxicants are served if one is in her position, but the pilot is determined to make the best of it. After all, something has drawn her here (NO, NOT THE BOOZE) and it's her job to go with her hunches. Curses, that bar is tempting. And those bottles. Yes... ah, the bot... no. No, not allowed! With a resolute turn on her heel, Johanna moves so that she's not being taunted by the endless selection of drinks. Fortunately the shift brings another familiar face -- albeit bruised this time -- into her line of sight. Can that really be the doctor? "Ly --" she begins, only to cut herself short in favor of a more cautious and measured approach, closing the distance slowly. Jamon sees that he is no longer being spoken to so he dismisses himself and heads back to his drink. Keifan stands up sharply, and smiles to Lynae, dowing the last of his bottle, before setting it empty on the table, and tapping Lynae's hand softly, "Thanks for everything Commodore." He winks a warm smile of old friendship to her, and a half, but long drawn out smile; before he heads up to the bar, ordering something most of the patrons can't hear. Lynae glances up as the stranger, unintroduced unfortunately, steps away from the table and frees her line of sight to spot Johanna approaching at a cautious pace. A wry smile forms on her face, "Yes, it's me," she answers the unspoken question, half forgetting what the bruises look like to other eyes than hers. "Long time no see," she adds as she starts to rise from her chair, thinks better of it, and sets the glass down to wave to one of the empty chairs at the table, "Please join us," she says as Keifan stands and speaks, her gaze shifting back to him as a frown settles on her face, "I'm not - " her words trail off as he moves away from the table leaving her to staring after him with that frown on her face before she turns back towards Johanna. "I feel like I'm in a revolving door," she comments aloud, "but please join me?" she asks. "Long time indeed," Johanna replies with a nod as she claims one of the chairs for herself, watching Lynae with little thought to the other woman's possible discomfort at such scrutiny, "Perhaps too long? You look like you've tangled with a rancor, or at least run into that revolving door." She's never been one to put things delicately. Still, her words don't embellish or exaggerate the situation. "Oh, I'm not going to ask you anything you don't feel like sharing. I just hope the other guy took his fair share of the beating." It seems she's content to leave it at that. If Lynae wants to direct the conversation down that path, she's willing to listen, but she won't lead. Webb trudges in out of the rain, looking as if he's been out in it for a while. He's positively drenched, his face pale from the cool and dampness. He peels off a rain-poncho, and hangs it by the door, leaving it dripping upon a coatrack. Whereas most folks' teeth would chatter, Webb's jaw is simply is simply clenched. He trudges a sodden path towards the bar, only to have a towel tossed squarely at him by Ariani the barkeep. "Thanks," he mutters, proceeding to dry his face as his gaze scans down the length of the room. Lynae chuckles and summarizes it in three neat words, "Treason. Punishment. Exile," as though that explains it all, but she gives one of those gallic shrugs before saying, "As for the other fella, no. It's rather hard to hit back when my hands were a bit tied up at the moment. I wouldn't have anyway, well didn't, until the end," she adds with a frown. "But I kicked him then, so I get points." She reaches for her glass of water again as the door opens to admit another rain drenched patron along with a gust of cool damp air. "You look well though," she says to Johanna, "though I find it so many shades of funny that we meet in another bar." Treason? Whether Johanna approves or not isn't clear; an eyebrow is raised at Lynae's words and nothing more. "It sounds like you've had your plate rather full, then. I'm sorry to hear you were in a spot of trouble. As for the bar..." she shrugs, chewing on her lower lip for a moment and then letting out a short laugh, "This place holds a lot of memories for me. I suppose you could say I did a lot of growing up over good conversation in the Sandbar. Thanks for saying I look well." She probably appears a little gaunt in comparison to when she was last in contact with the doctor, but travel in uncharted space will do that to a being. Lynae glances slowly around the bar in response to Johanna's statement, taking in more of the actual room instead of just focusing on the immediate amenities available. She tilts her head back slightly to glance upwards, either just noticing or really just paying attention to the fact that there's a loft above the main floor. "All things considered, Johanna, of all the places to find good conversations, this looks like a good place." She drinks from the glass again, watching as one of the waitresses approach, "What would you like to drink?" she asks, "on my tab. Might as well spend my 'pension' such as it is. "I really shouldn't. Actually, I can't. I certainly don't mean to refuse a friendly offer. But as a physician I am sure you will understand when I say that I've reached my limit." She never thought she'd utter those words, but she's done it. A small sense of pride washes over her at the accomplishment. "You're as fine a drinking partner as anyone could ask for, though. Seems I chased away your last companion?" Again she watches Lynae, gauging the other woman's expression. A hint of concern reveals itself in the pilot's dark eyes. "Pardon me for sounding forward, Doctor Caiton," she says in a quieter tone, "But are you really quite okay?" Webb sits there silently upon that barstool for a moment, rubbing the towel against his face to lend it some semblance of dryness. When he looks up, Ariani has placed a mug full of some manner of hot beverage in front of him. Webb opens his mouth as if to say something, but is cut short by a stern expression from Ariani, who has apparently decided that the hot beverage is exactly what the Marine wanted. Webb arches an eyebrow, and apparently decides against protest, and lifts the mug to his lips. As he sips from it, he turns his eyes down the bar, peering at the various other patrons over the mug's rim. "I meant mineral water, or just plain water, or tea, they serve a good cup of caf too, by the by," Lynae answers first, before spotting the concerned look on Johanna's face. She sighs then, "Not really, no. At while the options aren't plentiful, I'm chasing down two that might remedy the situation, but it's not easy of course." Absently rubbing her fingertips over her left wrist as she speaks, "This was meant to be a punishment, a lasting one, and it'll ultimately kill me if I don't make some drastic changes in my life style, or find a skilled surgeon that's at least as good as I am. I say that not in arrogance," she hastens to add. "But out of the knowledge that if I go under the knife, such as it is, at the hand of a surgeon who doesn't know his stuff, then I'm going to go out and not come back, it's that simple." She quietly goes on to explain the implantation of the rewired pacemaker and how it all works as a punishment. While Lynae tells her story it seems that Johanna grows withdrawn, or at least far more quiet than usual. Her eyes narrow as the details are revealed and she settles into a state that would appear to others as one of being only half-awake. In fact, she's listening with more than just her ears, sussing out the geography of the doctor's Force-presence and her physical state. For a long moment she says nothing. Then she sighs. "The job was thorough. You don't... *feel* right to me. I guess you don't feel right to yourself, either. But everything about you is off right now and the damage being done is dangerous. I know someone who might be able to help. I'm just not sure if he'll be willing to put his considerable technical skill to use on... you." A frown creases her forehead. "I'm not saying that to offend you. It's just... how things are. I *could* bring you to Skywalker, or try something myself, but we're not surgeons like... well... Doctor Finian is." Lynae's jaw sets in a fine line, drawing a deep steadying breath before she nods slowly, battling back a whole host of emotions that chase across her face. "I don't imagine that he'd be any more willing to see me, peaceably, than I am him. But the irony is that I've already sent him a holo message. Which, if he received, should be putting him into gales of laughter," she says in a voice of dry amusement. "Me, asking Him, for help. The irony is so thick I could cut it with a knife. Not that I have one," she mumbles, "but the irony is there." She closes her eyes for a moment, taking the time to breathe again before opening her eyes again, "I like you, Johanna. I respect you. I count you as friend, if you'll allow, and I don't have a huge circle of friends. But when it comes to Brandis I have.. god the images Johanna. The images," she rubs at her eyes with her fingertips. "It took weeks and weeks to get over them, and sometimes I'm not sure if all of me came back. By all rights, he should say no, and watch me die. After - " she cuts herself off and shakes her head again. "What did you do to him?" The question is posited in as clinical a manner as is possible, devoid of all emotion and calculated to be utterly direct. The pilot leans forward to place her elbows upon the table, hands folded, expression one of infinite patience. "I don't mean the Empire. I mean you, Lynae Caiton, personally. I find it intriguing that you would contact Brandis for help if you feel culpable for having caused the good doctor a significant amount of pain. He and I have never been warm to one another, but I respect his powers as a healer and he helped save my life once. I esteem him. It is my right to know your share in the guilt if you wish for me to be an agent of negotiation on your behalf." Emma drops a glass as a familiar face walks in, but he waves her off for now, quickly aimed at the other end of the bar, Once he takes his seat, he drops his coat behind the bar, taking his ale with a smile and lights a cigarra, the smell of andriss quickly filling the air around him, as he quietly relaxes off in the background. Lynae's right hand grips the near empty glass for a moment, white knuckled as she meets Johanna's gaze. Lynae's jaw remains set in that fine line, and for a moment it's almost as though someone else is looking through her eyes as she speaks. "I will preface my answer by saying that I will not now, nor ever, apologize for my actions and deeds as a officer of the Empire. For if I do that, it negates everything I have ever done, and I will not do that. I did my job, Johanna. And I did it well. I've worked for some of the.. most challenging people in the Universe, and came through it, in as many pieces as necessary to survive." She clenches her left hand, trying to control the trembling that she can't quite control before continuing. "I, under orders from Malign, aided and assisted Fleming in the interrogation and torture of Brandis Finian. Furthermore, I aided and assisted with the torture of his mate, Kyrin. I also vowed that every life I took between that point and when I met him again in combat would be a life that I extinguished in his place." Her normally clear blue eyes have paled to ice as she speaks slowly, clearly, her voice pitched to carry to Johanna's ears only. "I did my job, Johanna. It did it, and I live with the smell of blood, the image the memories of broken bodies and the sounds, the sounds Johanna," her voice drops for a moment, her eyes unseeing as she stares inward. "The blood. Do you know what blood looks like when it pains the walls of an interrogation chamber? As it slides down in r-- " the device on her wrist sounds again and she abruptly stops speaking, her right hand shattering the glass held so tightly during her recitation. She gasps, going into a deep breathing exercise as her pulse levels out in the high 120's again. Johanna seems unmoved by Lynae's grisly recollections of what she did in the name of the Empire. "You're lying," she finally says, "If you felt no guilt, or truly believed in your mission, you wouldn't just nearly have... well. Your doubts have revealed themselves in a very obvious fashion. I know Fleming, I'm familiar with some of his methods, though it's probably to my benefit that I don't know about most of them. As for Malign..." Her expression sours momentarily, "... I'm not surprised. The fruit has fallen very far from the tree. But you, Lynae... you are a different creature entirely." Her elbows scoot back as she takes her arms off the table to fold her hands in her lap. "I've done my share of killing. Some of it in self-defense, some of it in defense of the Republic, and some of it simply because I didn't like the way the being looked at me. Some of it I've done for money... and some of it to satisfy what the dark side told me to do, because I enjoyed it. I have to live with that for the rest of my days." A beat, then, "You don't strike me as someone who did it for pleasure, and you have yet to convince me you think it was acceptable. Orders or no orders, that little device in your body telegraphs your conscience very well." Lynae's eyes open slowly, and if one were paying very close attention it would seem that her eyes are shifting from that ice blue back to the cerulean blue she normally sports. "I did what I was ordered to do, Johanna. I did it with skill, with aptitude. I am what s- " she breathes deeply, "I am what I was trained to be. It doesn't matter if I found it acceptable. Mine is not, was not, the place to question. To inquire. To dispute. One does not question orders! One obeys!" she says in a low voice with heavy emphasis on the word Obey. Dareus takes a long sip of his Ale, nodding to Emma silently, a few small words go back and forth, as he just silently sits, staring at the bar, or some apparently enticing shotglass. "If you believed that," the pilot shrugs, "You wouldn't find any of this disturbing. You'd sleep fine at night and have no problems with these memories, because you'd have abnegated your responsibility and left it at that. You're not to blame in any way. What were you but a cog in the machine, powerless to stop it? Ah, but you don't think that. Don't lie to me, Doctor Caiton. I will gladly hear you out but I will not suffer someone's self-deception for the sake of shielding their bruised ego." Lynae laughs bitterly, shaking her head, "How could I stop it? If it hadn't been me, it would've been someone else. At least I had the chance to do something.." she pauses the forces out the word, "right, from time to time. Streamlined the efficiency of the OR. Retrained the first response medics so that triage was done the best way possible. It was a fair trade, it had to be a fair trade. She picked me, it was an Honor, Johanna, it was an honor to be noticed to be considered protegee material. I was just a bioweapons specialist, just another doctor on the line, from obscure postings out in the back of beyond to have her notice me it was an honor." She stops speaking as one of the waitresses hesitantly approaches and cleans up the shattered glass, pressing a clean towel towards Lynae to blot up the blood that is dripping from her hand, unnoticed. Lynae wraps the towel around her hand mechanically, "I did what I had to do, because that's what we do. That's what I do. And it's my fault that I can't stop the images, it's my fault that I'm not strong enough to block out the sights and the sounds and the smells." "You're right about one thing, Lynae. It would have been someone else." It's not that the Jedi is without feeling, or cannot sense the turmoil roiling in the former Imperial. She simply cannot condone what Lynae did... or what she herself has done. There are crimes she doesn't doubt she will pay for dearly one day. "I claim my share of responsibility for the deaths of the civilians on Cochran. I didn't order that world to be fired upon, but I stood idly by as it happened, knowing well in advance that it *would* happen. The dark side had utterly corrupted my conscience. The dark side works in us all... in you, in your colleagues, in mine. Or at least it tries to. It's not something limited to those who can manipulate the Force. You've bitten off more of it than you can chew and now you're tasting just how bitter it is. If you blocked out those images of your guilt, you wouldn't be proving your strength. You'd just be proving how weak you really are. Denial is the coward's way out." Suddenly she seems more animated and her voice fills up the space between the two women with an otherworldly quality. "Punish your ego and admit your guilt, and perhaps there will be hope for you." "I'd forgotten," Lynae says softly, "that you were there. I'd forgotten, or made myself forget, that you were there. Did you know that Danik gave me the choice of conducting the bombardment myself or standing by while he did it?" she says in that same soft voice. "I volunteered, because I wanted to be.. to prove myself. To prove that I wasn't just another cut out copy, that I was just as good as the men on the bridge. That I would be the one to," her sentences, comments, are choppy and half formed. "What hope, Johanna?" she asks suddenly, "What hope? Everything I was, everything I'd trained to be is gone. Is over. I can never go home. The one remaining person I had left alive in this world I am forbidden from seeing again, as long as he lives he'll be watched. My marriage ended months ago when he didn't come with the team that freed me from the Reprisal. He gave us the choice," she switches threads yet again, "to swear, and live. Or refuse to swear, and die. I wanted to refuse, I wanted to spit my refusal, my despite in his teeth and refuse to swear. But I knelt and did it, I swore to be loyal to the Empire to the Emperor that I wanted to over throw. I did it and here I am and I don't.. what hope?" she demands, shaking her head from side to side, "There is no hope. The blood, I can't stop seeing the blood on my hands," she adds in a bitter voice. "Hope for your survival, Lynae. Unless you come to a very important realization sometime within the near future, I don't think I'll be able to do much for you. Short of shoving my hand into your open chest and hoping I don't pull out something vital, there's little that can be done to assist you if Doctor Finian doesn't step in. As with all things, that aid will come with a price. The going rate is your contrition. If you can reasonably say that you're proud of having smeared the lifeblood of sentients across the walls of your last few posts, then fine. By all means, tell me so I can get up and go. But if you regret it -- which by all appearances you do, if you'll pardon my being so forward -- then you'll have to tell me that as well." Maybe she's impatient, or she's grown older during her time in the uncharted regions. What's for certain is that Johanna isn't joking this time. While she cares for Lynae's welfare, she can ill afford to abet someone who will present a liability to the cause of the Republic in the future. Johanna's words strike Lynae exactly as they were intended, with the ring of truth that makes Lynae take a silent few moments to think before she replies. "Rodriga asked me, once upon a time, why I did the things that I did. I told him that I did what I had to do so that soldiers under my command would stop dying. So that I could stop singing death certificates, stop sending letters to the surviving kin, stop seeing flag draped coffins when there were enough remains left to bury or jettison into space. That my people.. " a half smile curves her lips upwards briefly as the phrase that is no longer accurate, "would stop dying. And that the only way to accomplish that was to eliminate the threat. Eradicate the threat." Her eyes are distant as she speaks quietly to Johanna, seeing something other than the bar and her friend as she forms her reply. "I took an oath, once upon a time, to serve the Empire, and I took it freely, of my own accord, believing with every fiber of my being that it was the right thing to do. Before I swore that oath I took one to use my knowledge, my skills, every ounce of my training to heal, to help repair the damage that life and war and accident does to the body. And for years I believed that the two oaths ran in tandem with each other, serving hand in hand. I can tell you exactly when that stopped," she says, her voice dropping as she focuses on Johanna. "The first time I was ordered to cut into someone in interrogation to wring the confession from them that was required." Lynae clears her throat softly, rubbing her right hand over her left wrist, studying her left hand where it rests on the table, fingertips still twitching slightly, a frown on her face as she stares at it. "Perhaps this punishment is fitting. It's clever, in a way that I would not have thought of. You tell me that the going rate is Contrition, is Regret. And I tell you that I do feel that, that I live and breathe it. But what price is my contrition worth? What value my regret? It changes nothings. I don't know how to hope, Johanna. I've believed in nothing for all these years but for the thought that the day will begin anew, that my life is ordered, structured, everything neatly arranged and set forth in categories and lists. Rules and regulations, structure and format. Where does hope fit into that?" Sarray strides in through the door, his hands jammed into the pocket of his field jacket. He gives a brief glance around and smiles. Picks up his steps as he heads for the bar, a tune is whistled softly. Fair enough. "I can show you a different sort of life, if you'd be at all interested," the pilot sighs, tipping her chair back a little precariously as she lights up a smoke, "And no, it doesn't involve blowing sunshine up everyone's... well, you know how that one ends. I'm not the kind to promise you happy fields of bliss where you can retire guilt-free. It's going to be difficult to rewrite your life, to reinvent yourself. I won't lie and say that shifting gears will be simple. But if you want to live..." a shrug, and then, "... if you want to live instead of mucking through this half-dead state you're in, or dying altogether, then you'll have to relocate for a time." She eyes Lynae with some wariness before venturing, "You *do* want to live, right? I won't waste my time on someone who'd rather space themselves than face facts and try to salvage what they can of their existence. No offense intended." Sarray catches a few bits and pieces of the conversation as he orders his drink and smiles at the mention of living and dying. "Give me something easy, altered state is fine, I just want to have a stomach after." he tosses a few credits on the bar and then realizes the state of one of the women and eyes her curiously. Lynae head snaps up as she stares at Johanna, "Relocate where?" is her asked question, staring at Johanna as though Johanna just said the most confusing thing ever. "I could no more turn into sunshine and light than.. " she makes another one of those sounds that tries to encompass frustration as she frowns at Johanna. "Guilt free, right, like that's going to happen. What do you mean reinvent myself?" she asks next, clearly finding most of Johanna's statement to be rebuttal worthy and having a 'do you want to know more?' moment. "Yes, I want to live. Or I'd already be dead, it would've been a lot faster than going out one jolt at a time, Johanna. But I'm not ready to die. But relocate where?" "It won't be a permanent move. You'd come with me for a time... I have several properties, and a small fleet of ships at my disposal. I'm a spacefaring creature, we'd be on our merry way most days and I'd get a better sense of where you are in your life. I don't mean to sound condescending in any fashion. You wouldn't be my assistant. It's just that things have changed with me and there are variables to consider that weren't there before. Think of it as being hired on for a sort of... well... traveling-buddy job. Being alone in space bores me witless, there's only Cricket to keep me company and he's a demented little bugger. It would be nice to have a smart person along for the ride." The offer is on the table, so all that remains is for Lynae to render her judgment and make a reply. Johanna doesn't doubt that it will be an interesting one no matter what the ex-Imperial decides. --- *Conversations_Act3